Panem et Circenses
by AgentStormOO7
Summary: When 18 year old Mathias is forced into the gladiatorial games of Ancient Rome, he struggles with his fate, his hatred for the government, and his blossoming feelings for Rome's coldly beautiful emperor: Lukas Bondevik. This story contains DenNor, Sufin, USUK, Hong(asexual)Ice, Spamano, and more.


AN: Hey, Daisy here! This was originally PruAus, but I took it down and revamped it as DenNor. Anyway, I intend for this story to be long, so keep in tune for updates! Anyway, let me know what you think-I always read every review and almost always reply. Oh, and by the way, my tumblr is prussia-is-my-bitch for purely hetalia, and fangirlranting for multifandom (hetalia, funny posts, free, black butler etc...)

Disclaimer: If I owned hetalia, Den and Nor would be officially dating right now.

Some things to know:

Jutland- the name for northern Denmark in the 8th century.

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><p>"Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains."<p>

― Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract

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><p>"There's the Miscreant! Seize him!"<p>

Mathias ducked beneath the canopy of a merchant's apple booth, ignoring the sweaty man's affronted curses and insults as he pushed him aside. He knocked over a barrel of fruit in his haste to get away. His bare feet danced and skidded between market stalls, a warm loaf of bread tucked securely under his right arm. The plump baker he had stolen it from had long since exhausted himself chasing him but, in his place, two burly guards joined the pursuit.

_Shit._

Mathias had no intentions of getting caught. His plan was simple: 'Accidentally' spill the baker's neat arrangement of bread rolls, and swipe a loaf of bread for himself while the baker was picking them up. He wasn't counting on the baker's pubescent son returning just in time to witness the thievery, shouting "crook" and drawing all attention to the spiky haired thief with a point of his chubby finger.

Mathias did not take pleasure in being a criminal. As a child growing up in Jutland, he had lived comfortably with his parents and slightly younger brother Berwald, always with a hearty supply of food in reach should he desire it. He had never imagined that one day the sensation of a full stomach would be a distant memory. Days after Mathias's 13th birthday, both of his parents had been murdered by a drunken group of Jute vikings, rendering the two boys devastated, poor, and alone. After his father discovered his wife's raped and mutilated body pinned beneath one of the ruffians, he threw his own life away in a desperate attempt at vengeance, his wiry fists no match for the brutish muscles and sharpened daggers of his opponents.

The recently orphaned 13 year old and his 11 year old brother had wandered for days on their own, salvaging the staling food in their home and begging for coins in order to provide for themselves. After almost a week, when the boys were weak with grief and on the precipice of starvation, they were found by an aging Roman merchant, travelling through Jutland for business. Taking one look at the sallow-faced children, he offered them food and water, before lifting them onto his carriage and taking them to his home in the famed city-state of Rome. The Merchant, soon incorporated Mathias and Berwald into his life, raising them as if they were his own sons. Mathias idolized him. The merchant taught the boys everything he knew, from economics and mathematics to physical combat and weapon wielding. He loved them with all of his heart, and knew his adoration was requited. But, just when the boys had found happiness again, and hope restored into their futures, lady fate reared her ugly head again.

A shuddering cough at the dinner table one evening was the harbinger of devastation for the Scandinavian brothers. Each day, despite Mathias's desperate attempts at nursing him, the old man grew weaker and weaker with illness brought with age. His incapacitated state prevented him from continuing his business, cutting off the flow of income for their make-shift family, soon rendering them unable to even pay for a doctor. After months of heartfelt prayers and futile vials of medicine, the boys' guardian was inevitably claimed by death. Mathias and his brother were, yet again, alone.

"Crap!" The now 18-year-old Scandinavian boy was jolted out of his thoughts as a stone was tossed at his skull, close enough to graze his blonde hair. Mathias stumbled as more rocks were thrown in quick succession in an attempt to slow him down. A particularly large one nailed him in the crevice of his right shoulder, drawing a yelp from the startled boy. His arm jerked painfully, allowing the loaf of bread to slip through his elbow.

Mathias cursed under his breath. With his pursuers at his heels, he had no chance of going back to retrieve the lost bread. He could only hope that Berwald had been able to scavenge some food for them, at least enough to settle their bellies until morn. That was, if Mathias wasn't caught for his thievery and brutally executed beforehand. He knew that a quick execution was a generous punishment for thieving street rats like himself- he'd probably end up being crucified. Ever since the merchant's death, the teenage boys had been living as the lowest of the low on the social food chain, as _plebeians. _They survived off of the discarded left-overs of others' meals, and the measly earnings Mathias managed to pilfer at markets and on the streets.

Mathias made sure to omit these certain pieces of information from Berwald, instead telling him that he earned the money playing his fiddle. He knew that if his younger brother were to find out about his criminal activities, he would panic and demand that he stopped immediately. Mathias couldn't let that happen. He loved his little brother, the only family he had left, and wanted nothing more than to see him fulfill his fantasies and live the life Mathias had always dreamed of for them both. Berwald was determined to become a centurion for his Emperor's Roman military- a dream that would be futile without sufficient money to pay his way through training, and enough food to build his strength. Mathias knew that, as a scrawny, mud-covered plebeian with two silver coins and a lyre to his name, there was no chance of him gaining enough money for Berwald without having to resort to crime.

Which, of course, led him here. With a swarm of guards at his heels, a lost loaf of bread, and an execution post with his name on it. Fabulous.

From the corner of his eye, Mathias noticed a dark pathway snaking between two villas, its tight entrance concealed almost completely by the obstructing stone of its neighbouring buildings. Seizing his opportunity, Mathias spun on his heel, and kicked a thick plume of sand and dust into the faces of his pursuers. They skidded to an ungainly stop, sputtering coughs and clumsily wiping their hands over their faces. Taking advantage of their temporary loss of vision, Mathias wrapped his blistered palms around the foundations of a jeweller's market stall, and yanked it towards him, sending the small structure plummeting to the ground. The violent sound of smashing ceramic and the onslaught of beads rolling outwards across the earth sent the civilians in his vicinity into chaos. Yelps and screams of surprise sounded throughout the crowd of market-people, most scrambling to distance themselves from the wreckage, while others rushed forwards to help the unfortunate jeweller salvage what was left of her wampum.

Mathias allowed himself to be carried away by the swarm of anxious civilians, until he had travelled far enough to duck into the narrow passage he'd spotted earlier. A dead end. As soon as his heaving form was cloaked by shadow, Mathias turned and pressed his back into the wall, willing it to swallow him whole and hide him from the guards. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to stifle his gasping pants, though his lungs seared and protested from exertion. Although he could not see anything from his hiding spot, Mathias didn't dare close his eyes, well aware he was far from out of the woods yet.

Mathias waited with bated breath as the shrieks and scuffles sounding from the market died down to the usual light chatter.

"Where'd 'e go?"

Mathias tensed and held his breathe as the voice of one of the guards rang out just meters from the mouth of the pathway.

"The little shit probably ran off into the crowd when we 'ad sand in our eyes."

"Fuckin' street scum. The emperor will 'ave our heads for lettin' 'im get away!"

More shuffles and curses. "He couldn't 'ave gotten far. He's probably just 'idin' out in the Thermae, or sumfink. If we run we could probably still catch 'im."

A grunt. "Arright, we best be copping a move on, then. I can't wait to see the look on the little rat's face when 'e knows 'e's been caught."

"I wonder if 'e'll wet 'imself."

The first guard chortled. "That'd be a sight."

Gradually, the voices and guffaws of the two guards dulled to distant murmurs as they walked further away from the passageway, still discussing the 'fun' they'd have punishing the boy.

With a shuddering sigh, Mathias relaxed, and squeezed his eyes shut in relief. Somehow, he had yet again managed to escape a gruesome fate by the hairs of his neck.

_I've got to start being more careful_, he thought. It's only a matter of time before he'd be caught, this time for good. As important as it was for him to raise money for Berwald, it's more important to stay alive for him. Mathias would be damned before he'd leave his little brother alone, like everyone else before them.

Mathias peeled himself from the wall and rolled his shoulders, thankful that, despite his malnourishment, he was still fit enough to outrun the guards. Then again, he seemed to be spending quite a lot of his time running lately.

As he pulled away from the wall, a piece of material from the rags he called a tunic snagged on a sharp peak of stone, ripping a large opening his right side. Just the icing on top of the cake. At this point, all Mathias wanted to do was to curl up between the cloths of his large bed in his former guardian's villa, and forget the world for a good 8 hours.

Unfortunately, he'd lost that luxury several months after the merchant's death, when the boys were forced to sell his villa to pay for food and clothes. Mathis supposed that, for tonight, he would just have to settle for a bug ridden mat in the corner of their communal villa.

As he stepped out of the passageway to begin his journey home, Mathias found himself distracted with thoughts of a well-deserved slumber. He imagined opening the door to find Berwald waiting for him with a platter stocked with bread and cheese and eggs, with a pouch of wine to wash it down. His mouth watered. He was so engrossed in thoughts, in fact, that he didn't see the bulky form of a man approaching him from behind until his ear was painfully yanked backwards, the rest of his body following clumsily.

"Well, well. 'Ave a look what we've got 'ere!"

This wasn't one of the two guards Mathias noticed chasing him earlier. There must have been a third- albeit one far stealthier than his companions. Dirty fingers still tightly pinching his ear, the guard pulled Mathias's face towards his own, drawling raspily against his neck. His breath smelt of onions.

"Yer thought you'd gotten away, hadn't yer, rat? Well guess what? Yer thought wrong!"

"Unhand me, brute!" Mathias struggled against his assailant's hold, but a large arm around his neck prevented him from getting anywhere.

The guard snorted gracelessly. "Nice try. You aint goin' nowhere but under tonight, boy."

Mathias continued to squirm, but without reward. On a whim, he swung his head around, and spat in the man' face. Disgusted, the guard recoiled, swiping saliva out of his eyes. As soon as his grip loosened, Mathias ripped free, and stumbled forwards in his haste to escape. He had barely moved 3 steps before the thick sole of a heavy boot landed in the square of his back, sending him sprawling forwards. Mathias wheezed. A two rough hands curled around cuff of his tunic, yanking him upwards so he was face to face with the snarling guard.

"That's enough playing nice," he hissed. "Just for that little stunt, I'm gonna make sure that when yor executed, it will be in the most, bloody, painful, gruesome meffod possible."

Mathias just wheezed in reply. The grip on his neckline was excruciatingly tight, and he struggled to breathe.

As his vision darkened around the edges and his limbs grew numb, Mathias could only see a younger Berwald's smiling face swimming before his eyelids. There was no way of knowing whether he would ever see the smile again.

From here on out, the fate of this stouthearted plebeian with an intense love for his brother and a passionate hatred for the government lay in the hands of Rome's youngest and finest Emperor to date:

Caesar Lukas Bondevik.

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><p>What did you think? Leave a review with comments or critiques! Also, if anyone wants to beta this story, shoot me a message; I could really use one!<p> 


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